


Complete my sin

by becka



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: First Time, M/M, Post-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-27
Updated: 2019-09-27
Packaged: 2020-10-29 11:15:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20795750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/becka/pseuds/becka
Summary: It hadn’t taken Adam long to figure out Ronan knew more about sex than he did, since Adam’s understanding of the whole thing hovers between academic and traumatic.





	Complete my sin

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Hudson Taylor.
> 
> Disclaimer: Lube you get out of dreams may not be condom-safe. Never use oil-based lube with latex condoms!

Adam goes still when he realizes Ronan’s whispering into his bad ear. They’re kissing, shifting hotly against each other under Adam’s thrift store down comforter, and Ronan pulls away to pant at the side of Adam’s neck. The first time Adam doesn’t know the brush of Ronan’s lips is forming words, but the second time it’s obvious. He can feel Ronan’s breath against the useless whorl of his ear and Ronan stays there too long, the puff of his breath too exact.

“I can’t hear you,” Adam says, tingling with shame, wanting to shove him off. Ronan must know, must be doing it on purpose.

He moves to kiss Adam’s other cheek. “I’m not sure I’m ready for you to hear yet,” he says quietly, his voice scraped down to gentleness. There’s been so much to get used to in the last couple of months, the ley line quieting down to a constant reliable hum, the reality of their losses and the incredible relief of Gansey’s life. The way that Ronan has softened is just one part of it. Happiness beats beneath his skin, and when Adam doubts himself—which he still does, probably everyone does—he looks at Ronan and thinks, _I make him happy_. And that’s important enough to keep him going.

It’s always too cold in his apartment now that winter has taken root in Henrietta, so that every venture out from under the comforter is an icy shock. He’s reluctant to do it, even though the cocoon they occupy is small and airless, but he wants to see Ronan’s face. It’s never as dark here as it was in the trailer, the streetlight outside scattering streaks of light and shadow across the narrow bed in the narrow room. He pushes the comforter back down around their shoulders, so that Ronan looks like he’s emerging from a cloud. “Don’t talk to me where I can’t hear you,” he says softly but decisively. Both of them still have secrets they’re not ready to let out into the world yet, and Adam knows that, but he won’t let it be like this. “Don’t take advantage of it.”

Ronan nods and kisses him again, and Adam knows it’s close to an apology, a form of penance. He kisses Adam’s temple and his throat and then his mouth, again and again and again, until Adam has forgotten the whispering, until he’s drunk and breathless with wanting again. He has to close his eyes to keep his hips from shivering closer to Ronan’s as their legs tangle under the comforter.

It hadn’t taken Adam long to figure out Ronan knew more about sex than he did, since Adam’s understanding of the whole thing hovers between academic and traumatic. Although he has blushingly gotten a condom on a banana in good form, he still sometimes thinks about the word “squirt” when he’s jerking off and loses all desire to touch himself. He feels a little pinch of shame even now, when he tries to name what they’re doing, Ronan’s hand tucked around his hip, Ronan so obviously, tangibly turned on, as hard as Adam is as they move against each other. He never lets it get farther than this, never lets himself come while he’s kissing Ronan. There’s no mess with kissing, no loss of control. He feels like a storm is building inside him, but he can still stop. He can build a tornado shelter or a sea wall and hold back the chaos. But eventually he doesn’t want to.

Ronan bites at Adam’s bottom lip, tugs it with his teeth and laps over it with tongue, kisses like his lawless Latin, a language Adam can barely keep up with. “I want,” says Ronan against Adam’s flushed cheek, and then he can’t continue. Maybe that’s all he has to say; “I want” may be a full sentence, if he aches like Adam aches. But it makes Adam meet his eyes, their skin cooling outside the comforter, and it’s startling to see himself as the object of that kind of focus. 

“Yeah,” Adam agrees on a breath, in case that will encourage him, because he wants to know, even as his mind is cowering back from the words. Because Ronan has a whole vocabulary for sex that Adam could never match.

Ronan seems to falter. His eyes flick away in the dark. “We don’t have to,” Ronan tells him, before he lets himself say anything else. “This is great. We don’t have to do anything else.”

“I know,” says Adam. He bends his head to kiss Ronan’s bare shoulder. “I want you to tell me though, if there’s something else we could be doing. I could do something else.” He’s trying to convince himself too, talking over the voice in his head that says he’ll lose himself irrevocably in mindless hedonism.

Ronan puts his mouth to Adam’s ear again, his good ear this time, and says, “I want to sit on your dick.”

Adam forgets how to breathe. One second his lungs are working just like normal, and the next he’s stunned out of air. He imagines it with Technicolor clarity, and his dick flexes harder in his boxers.

“We don’t have to though,” Ronan insists, face still buried between Adam’s ear and the pillow as Adam gapes soundlessly. He could come just thinking about it.

“I don’t know how,” Adam manages out of the choked silence. He spreads his hand at the small of Ronan’s back, so his little finger just touches the curve of Ronan’s ass. He’s seen the way Ronan’s tattoo swirls down under the waist of his pants, but he’s never seen where it ends.

Ronan bites the lobe of his ear. “I’m offering to do most of the work for once, Parrish.”

“Why that?” asks Adam, dipping his fingers lower, slipping into the crack of Ronan’s ass, shaking but bolder than he thought he could be.

“Because I want you inside me.” A fresh wave of heat washes over Adam’s body, and he makes a sound this time, a little whimper in the back of his throat that gives everything away. “It’s my first time too,” Ronan adds. “You’re not the only one.”

“But you said it,” Adam replies. “I couldn’t ever say that to you.” He shoves his hand down the back of Ronan’s boxers before he can overthink it, fingers curling against the soft skin.

Ronan kisses the racing pulse in his throat. “I can say it for you then. And you can just do what you’re doing.”

“I don’t know what I’m doing.” He’s getting lightheaded, caught on the line between panic and arousal.

“We’ll figure it out. We’ve figured out worse things. If we fuck this one up, no one dies.”

“I might hurt you.” His hand is still moving, almost without his permission, until he’s got one fingertip against Ronan’s asshole, pressing just lightly there. He’s imagined this, in a vague sideways way, never able to focus on it for too long. And now it’s right in front of him. Ronan’s never been easy, but he’s making this easy, spreading his legs over Adam’s and licking his lips.

“You might not. I do okay on my own.”

“You…” Adam can’t say it even when Ronan’s said it first.

“Sometimes I finger myself and think about you, yeah.” His grin is sharp. “God, this is fun. I didn’t know it was so easy to make you blush.”

“Shut up,” says Adam. It’s dark; how could Ronan know if he’s blushing? He doesn’t know what to do next, how they progress from this to the thing Ronan wants. “What do I do?”

Ronan shifts against him, a little roll of his hips that brings them closer together for a moment before he moves away, careful to disturb the cocoon of the comforter as little as possible. He shivers as he stands, and his tattoo seems to move on its own in the dim light. “Fucking hell, it’s cold.”

Adam watches him fumble through his discarded jeans. “What are you looking for?”

“Stuff I use when I finger myself and think about you.”

“You just carry it around in your pocket?”

Ronan holds up a little bottle. “You never know when you’ll need it.”

Adam’s whole body tingles. The very thought that wanting him could be so urgent and consuming is more than he can contemplate. “Did you buy it?” Adam asks, but the answer is obvious, just looking at the tiny, finely-shaped bottle with its rubber stopper.

“No,” says Ronan, and he lets it hang. He took it from a dream, maybe even a dream about Adam. Adam feels envious of his own dream self, who was probably less afraid of what Ronan was offering.

“Jesus,” says Adam, shivering through the thought.

“You don’t have a condom, right?” Ronan asks.

Adam’s mind flashes through the Aglionby sex ed curriculum he’d had to endure, the absolute necessity of condoms that was the first thing they all learned. The teacher in charge had never actually said, “It’s imperative that you not get a townie pregnant,” but it was heavily implied. Adam’s never been close enough to sex to worry about it. “No,” he says. “I wasn’t expecting to need one.”

Ronan hesitates beside the bed, and Adam can see goosebumps rising on his arms as he folds them across his bare chest. “I’m cool if we don’t use one. If you are.”

“We should use one. Can't you just dream something?” Adam asks. “Like that stuff?”

He wants Ronan back in bed, not shivering nearby. But he doesn't want to be irresponsible, especially the first time they do this. 

Ronan shakes his head. “I could, but I don't want to. I don't know how it would work with you here. And I don't want you watching me dream when we could be doing something better. I've dreamed it enough.”

“Come back now,” says Adam, reaching out a hand. “Don't stand there like that. We can do something else this time. I…” He loses the words again, like they flee his brain when he gets too close to speaking them. He wants to touch Ronan, his fingertips aching to cover every smooth line and tensed muscle of his body. He wants to follow the lines of Ronan’s tattoo all the way to their ends with his hands, maybe with his tongue as well. He wants to put his mouth in other places, the least familiar kind of want, the one he most fears. _I could suck your dick_, he thinks, but he can’t say it, can’t even try.

Ronan unfreezes, slips back in under the covers without a fight. Adam shivers at the press of his skin as he settles, their bodies colliding in the small bed. Ronan’s bed is bigger than this, the one at the Barns and the one in Monmouth, but Adam’s hasn’t spent the night there since. Since. The Barns is truly Ronan’s now, and it feels impossibly intimate being there, loaded with a thousand tiny reminders of Ronan’s grief. And Monmouth is full of Gansey’s dangling quest, Gansey himself shuffling among maps and manuscripts, unsure of his part in the story now that all his prophecies have come and gone.

“Can I blow you?” Ronan asks baldly, one cool hand curving up around Adam’s hip, making itself at home in the warm crease of his thigh.

Adam nods helplessly. Desire is filling him up, taking up residence in every over-sensitized part of his body. Ronan can ask him for that, and he can grant permission, and it still feels like so much.

There’s not much space in the bed to maneuver, but Ronan burrows under the covers without hesitation, both hands framing Adam’s hips as he nudges down towards the stiff jut of Adam’s dick. Ronan paws at his boxers, clumsy with eagerness, and Adam is unprepared for Ronan’s careful fingers on his bare skin, making everything better and worse, so overwhelming that Adam gasps for breath. And then Ronan’s lips part on the head of his dick, and Adam can’t stop the shiver that runs through him, the tension that knots him up all over. He needs to not come, not yet, not while Ronan is still just lapping at the head of his dick, not even sucking it, just rubbing his lips there, his tongue. The sensation is brand new, nothing like jerking off, the gentle insistence of Ronan’s mouth pulling at him, and Adam clenches his hands into helpless fists. He doesn’t know how to survive this, how to let Ronan swallow him down without flying apart into a million pieces. He pushes the comforter far enough back that he can see Ronan’s face, shadowy between his legs, and the cold air grounds him in the moment, lets him focus. His nipples peak, and his arms tighten with gooseflesh. Every second is a new sensation as Ronan works at him, one hand cupped around the base of Adam’s dick.

“This good?” Ronan asks, his voice low and warm.

“Yeah,” Adam replies, because there isn’t an adjective to encompass what he’s feeling.

“You’re so quiet though. What do I have to do to make you scream?”

Adam shuts his eyes, shakes his head. Ronan’s never lacked a room with a door that locked; he’s never hoped the people he lived with would forget he was there. He’s never lived in a church. Adam can’t imagine screaming except in pain. “I can’t,” he says. “But don’t stop.”

Ronan sucks him deeper this time, and Adam reaches out for him, wanting another point of contact, something more familiar. Their fingertips brush, Ronan’s hand laid flat on his hip, holding Adam to the bed. Ronan looks up, his mouth wet and open on Adam’s dick, and Adam feels something break open inside him, that storm he’s been holding back for months. He latches their fingers together and hangs on tight, his toes curling against the worn sheets. It’s not even the familiar rush of orgasm, it’s something deeper than that, more overwhelming, loving Ronan and wanting him and having him. Adam thinks he might cry, the way everything hits at once, pressure building behind his eyes, and he’s going to actually come at any moment, but that’s such a small thing suddenly. He squeezes Ronan’s hand in a kind of warning, and Ronan pulls back with a wet slurp, the kind of noise Adam would find embarrassing except that Ronan’s hand is still on his dick, and his fingers tighten just so, and Adam comes. 

Ronan lets the mess of it hit him square in the face, and Adam watches, mortified and shaking, deeply torn between pleasure and shame. And then Ronan licks at the come painted at the corner of his mouth, and Adam has to shut his eyes. The pink flicker of Ronan’s tongue is every fantasy he’s barely let himself have.

The bed shifts, and Ronan settles on top of him, kissing the bitter taste of Adam’s come into his mouth. Adam kisses him back. Ronan’s dick is pressing hotly into Adam’s belly, and he rocks his hips in a slow circle. Adam reaches down to touch it, finds the slit of Ronan’s boxers and lets his fingers slip inside.

“Good,” Ronan says, as Adam holds him, the steady heat of his cock in the cup of Adam’s palm. He presses the tip of his nose to Adam’s, leaned in close so their breath overlaps hotly. When Ronan licks his lips, Adam can feel the slick sweep of his tongue. He strokes Ronan’s dick a little, up and down between their bellies. He doesn’t look down at his own hand, and it’s a long, shy moment before he can make himself look at Ronan’s face either. When he does, there’s a softness to his expression that Adam wouldn’t have recognized a few months ago. He watches Ronan watch him, his breath catching as Adam touches him, longer, smoother strokes as he gets used to the feel of Ronan’s cock in his hand. Everything is hot and damp and urgent, and when Ronan shuts his eyes and groans in the back of his throat, Adam knows he’s close to coming. His hips jolt into Adam’s grip, and Adam kisses the corner of his mouth.

Ronan’s lips part on Adam’s, and he comes in hot pulses on Adam’s belly. Adam feels a moment of crawling disgust, and then Ronan slides down his body to lick his own come off Adam’s skin, nuzzling at his stomach and licking in between his fingers, sucking at the tips of them. He makes it seem natural, obvious, and Adam stares down at him until Ronan finishes and rests his head on Adam’s belly. It’s very quiet. He cups a hand around the back of Ronan’s neck, warm and grateful.

Adam thinks they should go to another town, someplace bigger where he feels less conspicuous, maybe drive up to Harrisonburg, which is full of horny college students and anonymous chain drugstores. But there’s barely enough gas in his car to get him to and from work this week, and he’ll buy condoms on main street from someone whose son tormented him in elementary school before he’ll ask Ronan to drive him elsewhere because he can’t afford to drive himself. There are only two kinds of condoms, and Adam doesn’t know what there is to choose between them besides the color of the package. He stands in front of them for a second, but then the bell above the door jangles, and he startles and grabs a box without looking. They sit in his backpack the whole time he’s at work, and all he can think about is Ronan, Ronan touching himself, Ronan letting him inside. His cheeks go red any time anyone speaks to him, and his boss asks if he’s getting sick. He shakes his head no, and it doesn’t matter anyway, in a job where no one’s got sick leave. When he clocks out, his head feels woolly and his bones are full of buzzing grey static.

Ronan’s sitting outside his door at the top of the stairs when he gets home, and he has the whole length of the staircase to just look at him. Neither of them says anything, and there’s a strange solemnity to it. Adam has the ludicrous thought that he’s like a bride walking down the aisle, and then he can’t shake it.

“What is that look on your face?” says Ronan, when he reaches the landing, and the sound of his voice knocks something loose in Adam.

He smiles. “I’m happy. I think.” He imagines more times coming home like this, to Ronan waiting at his door, and it makes him itch to go inside, to get out of this ostensibly public place, even though no one uses these stairs but him. The condoms in his backpack might as well have a giant neon sign on them.

Ronan gives him a carefully neutral look. There’s a part of Ronan that always expects abandonment, a cruel balance to the part of Adam that always wants to run. He doesn’t say anything, but he doesn’t have to. Adam sees him too clearly.

“Come inside,” he tells Ronan, shuffling past him on the narrow landing. “I bought some stuff.”

“What a coincidence,” replies Ronan. Adam doesn’t look at him as he fumbles his keys out of his backpack and shoves the right one into the lock, but he can feel him there waiting, right behind him. His hands shake as he opens the door.

The apartment is still and cold, colder than the stairway, and Adam switches on the overheard light to hold back the early darkness. Ronan kisses the back of his neck, and Adam startles away from him, instinctive. Then he takes a breath and turns back to catch Ronan’s mouth with his. Ronan smiles against his lips, and then his mouth opens, warm and gentle, and his tongue touches Adam’s. They’re still in their winter coats, and it’s awkward as they press closer, layers of clothing cutting them off from each other.

Adam hangs his coat on the nail by the door, and Ronan drops his on the floor beneath in an imitation of neatness. He sets his boots beside Adam’s next, socks balled up inside them. Adam’s sorry for all his layers until Ronan starts to take the rest off him, tugging him free of everything except his boxers, pressing his warm mouth to each newly cold part of Adam’s body. Adam should help him undress too, but he’s trembling, distracted. It’s hard to think of anything except Ronan’s lips and the sharp graze of his teeth. His dick is tenting out the front of his boxers like it doesn’t even notice the temperature.

“You’re shaking,” Ronan says very gently, as though Adam might dispute it. “You good?” His eyes skate down Adam’s body, and Adam wraps one arm self-consciously across his belly.

“Yeah,” he says. “Just cold.”

“Liar,” says Ronan. He pulls his t-shirt off in one efficient motion, and Adam’s eyes catch on the uppermost points of his tattoo, sharp barbs rising over the clean, pale line of his shoulders. Adam comes close to kiss them, leaning into the warmth of Ronan’s body, wrapping his arms around Ronan’s waist and settling his fingers in the furrow of Ronan’s spine.

He keeps his good ear by Ronan’s mouth to hear the pleased little sound Ronan makes. Adam wants him more than he can control or contain, and he lets his teeth graze the tattoo, digs his fingers into Ronan’s back as though he might feel it moving under his fingertips there. Ronan mutters, “Fuck,” into his hair.

“I’m afraid,” Adam admits to Ronan’s shoulder.

Ronan doesn’t make him look up. “Afraid of sex?”

“Yes,” says Adam. It can’t be that much of a surprise to Ronan, who kisses his temple and does not pull away. Desire presses urgently behind Adam’s ribs, expanding like a balloon inside his torso, and he holds it back with one deep breath. Then another.

“We don’t have to do anything,” says Ronan. There’s no accusation in it, no disappointment, as though standing in Adam’s tiny, cold bedroom was the point all along.

“I want you so much,” Adam manages in response. His whole body is singing with it, and it’s easier to say into Ronan’s shoulder, without Ronan’s sharp eyes catching him. “I don’t know how to want someone this much.”

Ronan gives a creaky little laugh, just in the back of his throat, and Adam can feel the vibration of it. “That was the last two years of my life.”

Adam kisses him because he can’t think about that, the enormity of it. He wants Ronan now, and that has to be enough. Their mouths slide warmly together, Ronan’s tongue coaxing his. The bed is close behind them, but it feels like a promise of something more, and Adam’s knees lock when he tries to move towards it. He doesn’t want Ronan to say, “We don’t have to,” again, doesn’t want to be consoled by Ronan’s unfamiliar kindness and patience. Maybe this is just another thing Adam doesn’t understand about sex, how it can be kind and patient and not just selfish and greedy.

Ronan kisses him back fiercely, pulls Adam in and moves their mouths together until Adam’s lips are tender, nearly sore. “Come on,” says Ronan gently, and when he tugs at Adam’s waist, Adam’s knees unlock, and then they’re in his bed together in their underwear, the comforter bunched up against the wall beside them, revealing Adam’s pilling flannel sheets. Ronan’s half on top, and their legs overlap, Ronan’s hip rubbing at Adam’s dick as they keep kissing. Adam moves under him, seeking more focused pressure, losing track of what Ronan’s here for until Ronan sits back across his hips and says, “Condoms?”

“In my backpack,” Adam replies, and he makes himself take deep breaths as Ronan rummages in the pockets. They’re not hard to find, and Ronan tosses the box to Adam before he starts digging in his own coat pocket.

Adam opens the box and pulls out a string of plastic packets, feeling the distinctive shape between his fingers. He tears one off and stuffs the rest back into the box, but his hands are shaking a little and his eyes keep shifting towards Ronan, who is warming a familiar little bottle between his hands. It’s potent, the thought of it, the very idea of Ronan preparing himself for Adam’s dick.

“Can I watch you do it?” Adam manages to say.

Surprise crosses Ronan’s face and then disappears again like a scudding cloud. “Yeah,” he says. “Of course.”

He shoves down his underwear and Adam looks at him in the unromantic glare of the overhead light, tall and slim and sharp-edged. He’s hard, and he doesn’t do anything to hide it, sits down on the foot of the bed with his legs spread, knees up so Adam can’t help looking between them. Shame flutters in the back of his throat as he looks, and he thinks he should have turned off the light, let all of this stay softly shadowed, as though their bodies could fade out like a movie. Ronan swallows, and Adam peers at his face and recognizes uncertainty beneath his usual bravado. Ronan’s never done this before either, and that cannot be discounted.

Ronan shuts his eyes when he touches himself, rubbing two fingers down behind his balls, into the shadowy cleft of his ass. Adam watches them disappear there, and he’s dry-mouthed and dizzy just from the concentration on Ronan’s face, the soft catch of his breath. He can stare openly while Ronan’s got his eyes closed, and it’s so much better than the things he’s made himself look up online, so much better than his sideways imagining.

“Is this what you do on your own?” Adam asks quietly.

Ronan opens his eyes, just a little. “Not usually in this position. When it’s just me and I don’t need to put on a show.”

“You don’t need to put on a show now,” says Adam.

“I want you to watch.” Ronan sneaks a look at him, dangerous and glittering under his eyelashes. The bedsprings creak as he spreads his legs even wider, tilts his hips up until Adam can see the place where his fingers disappear inside. His mouth is dry, and his mind is dizzyingly empty save for the image of Ronan fingering himself and groaning softly.

Adam sets a hand against the angle of his own hip, not touching his dick but framing it, his boxers sticky where they meet the wet tip of his cock. He wants to touch himself, needs something besides the echo of Ronan’s arousal, which seems to ricochet around the room the longer he watches. His own heartbeat makes him shiver, makes his skin feel desperately sensitive, starved for touch.

“Take your shorts off,” Ronan says roughly, but his voice goes soft at the end, like a plea.

Adam does it immediately, caught in the need in Ronan’s voice. It’s graceless but efficient, and then they’re both naked and Ronan’s eyes are fixed on Adam’s dick. Adam can almost feel him imagining it, gears grinding in his brain as he works out how to get it inside. He licks his lips and Adam’s next breath is a helpless whine.

Ronan sits up and puts his free hand on Adam’s knee. Adam stares at it like it’s something totally unfamiliar. Ronan’s other hand is still between his legs. “If I touch you,” says Ronan, “is that going to be too much?”

“Yes,” replies Adam immediately. “But you probably should anyway.”

Ronan’s smile is wicked and warm. “Then you should put that on.” He points at the condom packet on Adam’s belly.

Adam remembers the banana and his stomach squirms, but he opens the condom anyway and tries not to overthink things as he rolls it on. His hand is shaky as he holds it at the base of his cock, offering himself up for whatever Ronan wants from him.

Ronan takes a deep breath, every part of him still as a stalking animal readying to pounce. Adam needs to be pounced on immediately, before he loses his nerve again, but he can hardly say that. So they stare at each other in expectant silence until finally, Ronan starts to crawl up the bed towards him, settling over the tense angle of his hips, ducking to avoid the slope of the ceiling. He touches Adam’s cock, their hands brushing as Adam lets go, lets Ronan rub him slick and guide him into the split of his ass. Adam’s breath stops on a choked moan as Ronan rubs the tip there, hips moving into a slow roll like dancing as he teases them both. Adam, impatient, aching, wants to grab him, pull him into place, sink into the hot center of him. He waits instead.

The moment stretches, and then Ronan is tucking the tip of Adam’s cock into himself, opening around it and sinking down, engulfing Adam in slick, sucking heat. He dips his hips lower, adjusts the angle, and Adam watches him do it. Their bodies jolt together suddenly as Ronan seats himself, and Adam grabs at Ronan’s knees like an anchor against the oncoming tide of pleasure. He’s never felt anything as good as this. Maybe nothing ever has been as good as this.

Ronan moves over him, teeth bared, accustoming himself to it. He splays his hands on Adam’s ribs, and slowly, uncertainly, his movements gain intent and rhythm. Fucking. Adam’s brain supplies that word, stripped of the violence Adam thought was inherent in it. This is maybe the least violent he’s ever seen Ronan, all of his dangerous edges smoothed with desire.

Ronan makes a noise, soft in his throat, and Adam’s cock pulses inside him. “I can’t do this for long,” Adam says, but it doesn’t feel like a failure. Everything about it is too new.

“Yeah,” Ronan agrees, on his own behalf maybe, and his next movement brings Adam even deeper into him, so deep it feels impossible. Ronan swears and his fingers tighten on Adam’s sides, blunt nails digging in until it hurts. And Adam would let Ronan hurt him, but Ronan probably wouldn’t let himself. So Adam lifts his hands away, folds their fingers together and holds on as Ronan moves over him, around him, making everything so good that Adam can’t keep the sound inside him bottled up. He moans, hips arcing towards the place they join, which might be the center of the universe, ley line be damned. Ronan smiles at the sound and doesn’t duck his head in time to hide it. Adam sucks in a deep breath. Everything in him is pulling, coiling tense and hot in his belly, winding like a spring, and he knows he’s going to come only in the second before it happens, Ronan bearing down on him, holding him inside. Ronan’s triumphant smile grows wider, and Adam’s tight control unravels completely. He squeezes their fingers together and breathes through every last pulse of it, Ronan still moving over him, more urgent now, and Adam almost can’t bear it, but he doesn’t want Ronan to stop.

Ronan’s hand is on his own cock, stroking tightly, and Adam wants to help, but there’s no space for him in the quick flex of Ronan’s forearm, the twist of his fingers. So he sets his hand higher on Ronan’s thigh, up now at the join of his hip, where his pulse beats strongly beneath his skin. Adam rests there, feeling the life in him, the very rhythm of it, and when Ronan comes, the sound he makes is part shout and part laugh, pure joy.

Adam lingers inside him, even though it aches, waiting until Ronan lifts himself off Adam’s softening cock. Adam pinches the base of the condom to pull it off, and Ronan stands beside the bed as though he’s forgotten what he meant to do besides watch. As Adam ties off the condom, his fingers feel unfamiliar, not in the terrifying way of Cabeswater, but as though all his nerves are singing. He sits up, and Ronan’s eyes follow him.

“Are you okay?” Adam asks.

“I’m the fucking best,” says Ronan, apparently not caring that he’s naked or that it’s still about 50 degrees in Adam’s room.

Adam drops the condom into the drugstore bag that serves as a trashcan. “Were you going to go clean up?” he asks.

“Were you?”

He thinks about how long it takes for the hot water to reach him and can’t face it. He shakes his head. “Just wipe down, maybe.”

Ronan turns toward the bathroom, and Adam admires the naked curve of his ass, the place he’s just been, with an unfamiliar sense of accomplishment. Ronan comes back with a damp washcloth, threadbare and warmed between his hands. He wipes it over Adam’s retreating dick gently, fingers cupped around the softening length of it. He uses the same cloth to wipe his ass in the open swing of the bathroom door, and Adam watches him drowsily. Contentment settles in his bones, deeper than happiness, more persistent than the euphoria of orgasm.

The two of them jostle together in Adam’s bed, still naked, and it’s strange how easy it is to be naked with Ronan now. Maybe it’s just the welcome warmth of their skin pressing together as Adam pulls the comforter all the way up, walling out the cold and dark.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] Complete my sin](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24488302) by [greedy_dancer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/greedy_dancer/pseuds/greedy_dancer)


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